“Quick, Martha…”

“…hand me mah smellin’ salts!”  From KrautPres / Reichkanzler Olaf Scholz comes this little bombshell:

We must finally deport on a large scale those who have no right to stay in Germany.

I’ll believe it when I see it, but you have to admit, it’s a first from any post-Mutti Merkel politician.

And in the same article, from Swissland:

Switzerland moved rightwards in an election on Sunday, giving the right-wing Swiss People’s Party (SVP) more seats in parliament as concerns about rising immigration outweighed those about the environment, final results showed on Monday.

Wait… the Green Nude Eel is starting to lose favor with, of all people, the Swiss?  And “concerns about immigration”?  Anyone would think that Swiss cities like Zurich have seen a massive increase in violent crime, mostly committed by “immigrants” of the Afro-Arab persuasion.

Oh, wait… they have.

News Roundup

Excuse me for a minute… [Pavlovian response]

Now on with the news, starting with the Great Cultural Assimilation Project:


...yet another triumph of Biden’s immigration policy.


...not in Nashville.


...we need to see more of this, all over the world.

And onto the great Palestinian Fuckup Fallout:


...Hamas:  continuing Obama’s legacy to the gun industry.


...the Izzies must be losing their touch.


...when asked to point out Israel on a map, the senator said: “Aarghlpaptmpofftry”.

And on to Sex News:


...and nobody saw this one coming.  [eyecross]


...confirming once and for all that yes, Bill Clinton was definitely on Epstein’s Client List.


...I didn’t even know that women were in the fencing business. [sic]

In Pre-Election News:


...enough of that stuff, Donald:  you already have my vote.


...no no, you lesbo freak, you’ve got it all wrong, as usual.  Trump doesn’t want to execute you;  but I could think of several others who might be tempted.
#Fifth Amendment #BuyMoreAmmo

And Great Moments In Parenting:


...I dunno;  sounds quite reasonable.

Then there’s this:


...not ordering the execution of Simon Cowell for Crimes Against Music?

And now, in INSIGNIFICA:

...so much for that “working-class punk” thing.


...nah, just kidding.  Here’s Liz Hurley:

A much better way to end the news, yes?

Bad Behavior

Back when I was still on the dating scene (shortly after someone discovered fire), I was thankfully spared the prospect of my date behaving badly by being glued to her cell phone during the meal.   (Back then, I didn’t even have a landline phone because the phone company — in South Africa, the Post Office — had a three-month backlog on new home phone installations.)

However, that was then and this is now.  Here’s what one guy did when faced with such a situation:

A man has caused a debate after admitting to walking out on a date without paying his portion of an $80 bill because his potential love interest was ‘constantly on her phone’. The man, who is from a major US city, revealed he met up with the woman after matching on a dating app. The pair hit it off and decided to meet in person.

The man was quick to brand the woman as a ‘vapid moral monstrosity’ who had the ‘attention span of a gnat’, after she spent a whole five minutes ferociously texting as they waited for their food.

When they finally began to chat she was quick to, yet again, start answering her ‘buzzing’ phone . The man attempted to make a few hints to his date about her antisocial behavior by joking and even saying he would throw the phone out of the window if it continued. However, his incessant hints fell on deaf ears as her eyes continued to be glued to her phone screen.

An appetizer and two drinks later, the man realized he was miserable and there was no possible way to turn this date around. He headed to the toilet, promising himself that if her eyes were still locked on her phone screen, then he would be making a swift exit out of the door.

When he came out to find her eyes fixed fixed on the screen, he validated that promise by quickly leaving. He detailed: “I looked the other way and there was a service door open behind the kitchen. I turned right instead of left and exited into the sweet, sweet air of freedom.”

And here’s the kicker:

It was only 30 minutes after he had left that the date even realized his absence, texting him: “Did you leave?”

Good for him.  I’m even glad that she got stuck with the tab, because having such appalling manners deserves to be punished.

I don’t even know why there would be a “debate” on the topic.

Too Much Hyperbole

This kind of thing gets up my nose — not the action itself, but the description thereof:

Lewis Capaldi has been praised for his heroic actions after rushing to help an elderly woman who had collapsed on Hampstead Heath in north London.

The singer, 27, was out with friends on the heath when he spotted the woman lying on the ground before dashing to her aid on Wednesday.

Onlookers in the area revealed that Lewis called the emergency services and stayed with her until they arrived to help.

Were his actions praiseworthy?  Of course — but then again good grief, what kind of person would leave an old woman lying on the ground, in obvious distress?

But “heroic”?  I don’ theenk so, Simon.

Had the old lady been attacked by three “teenagers” and Capaldi stepped in to help her:  yes, now that’s heroic.

But just rendering assistance?  That falls under “doing the right thing” and “civic duty”.

Headline hyperbole:  I fucking hate it.

Cutting Out The Middle Man

I have to admit that I’ve never listened to a Taylor Swift song all the way through — when I’ve tried to do so, the first couple of minutes have been sufficient for me to get the message that while’s she’s reasonably attractive:


…her music sucks.

Nevertheless, it’s clear that I’m very much in the minority when it comes to appreciation of the Plastic Princess’s output.

So this article at Breitbart got me thinking:

Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour broke box office records last weekend, and left-wing Hollywood didn’t make a dime. Not one red cent. Nothing. Nil. Nada.

Ha ha.

Swift Inc. knew it had a hot property on its hands with this concert film, and rather than work through a Hollywood studio to distribute this hot property, Swift Inc. made a deal directly with theater chains like AMC. The result was astonishing. Eras Tour opened like a Marvel movie — well, like Marvel movies used to open before Marvel went woketard: $93 million domestic, $124 million worldwide. That is the second-best October debut in history. After three days, Swift Inc. already captured the title of the highest-grossing concert film in history.

Eras Tour was and is, by any measurement, a smashing success, and Hollywood was shut out completely.

Did I mention ha ha?

After the theaters took their cut, Swift Inc. got all the money. Hollywood got zippo. Had Swift Inc. gone through a studio for distribution — which is how things are supposed to be done —the studio would have eaten up anywhere from 10 to 25 percent of whatever was left over after paying theaters as a distribution fee.

The message this success sends is obvious. Why not go the Swift Inc. route if you have a no-brainer box office hit? Why not produce it yourself and cut a deal with theaters to distribute it? That way, the producer keeps all the money.

I feel the same way about Hollywood as I feel about the music recording studios — “exploitative scum who should suffer a daily mass scourging” would be a decent summary — although it must be said that Hollywood’s wokism has only been a recent reason for my loathing, which goes back decades.

Aside:  I should also mention that the Eagles did the same thing with one of their albums, striking a distribution deal with Wal-Mart and cutting out the foul studio, although I seem to recall that the album sucked green donkey dicks compared with their earlier albums.

Anyway.

So as soon as the Taylor Swift movie appears on a streaming channel, I’ll give it a look.  Maybe I’ve been wrong — hell, there has to be some reason why TS is so immensely popular worldwide — and she’s the new Beatles or something (although I seriously doubt it).

Open-minded, that’s me though;  and I’m willing to learn.

(A baby-blue Gibson?  Oy vey.  It’s not a promising start.)

A Day In My Life

Indulge me please, O Gentle Readers, while I recount my activities last Friday.  They were nothing special, but there were a couple of highlights.

Woke up a little late after a night which featured “episodic sleep” — other Olde Pharttes will know whereof I speak — and finally fell into some proper sleep at about 5am.

Got up, did the usual Morning Stuff (Rx, urination etc.) and staggered out of the bedroom to make the morning coffee.  Debated about the gin, decided against it as I’d taken New Wife out for a Birthday Dinner the night before, and drunk perhaps a leetle too much sangria.  (Everything in moderation, that’s me.)

Coffee in hand, I discovered lying on my keyboard an empty bottle of some female facial cleansing lotion, and a plaintive note asking me to get her a fresh bottle.

Excellent:  a reason to get out of the house and do some husbandly / housekeeping duties — some groceries, fill the car, nothing special.

On the way out of the apartment complex parking lot, I saw something unusual:  a decently-styled American car:  I think it was a Buick, but as far as I’m aware they (like Lincoln) don’t make passenger sedans anymore, and the badge was too small for me to make the model out, whatever it was, but then again I’m not in the market for anything like that so I pootled out over the irritating speed bumps [1,000-word angry rant omitted].

Decided on Wal-Mart, simply because they’re just up the road and as I said, I needed to refill the Tiguan and their gas is reasonably priced.

I turned left across the traffic, and noted that there was an oncoming car just down the road, but the speed limit is 35mph, so plenty of room.  Except that he wasn’t doing 35 or anything close to it, so he swerved out of my lane and rocketed past me, shaking his fist (!) as he went by.

I had one of my quiet conversations at that point:  “I’m sorry;  did I make you late for your appointment at the next traffic light?”

As it happened, I didn’t;  but he was right on time for the cop doing the speed trap a block or so away.  So that ended well.

Went into Wal-Mart and got all the necessary things on the list — but before checking out, I stopped by the self-service lottery machine to make my weekly pension contribution.  As any fule kno, these contraptions do not give change, and all I had was a $20.

So I went over to the little in-house bank to get some change, only to be told that they don’t do that kind of thing unless the supplicant has an account with them.  “Well, I don’t have an account with you, and probably won’t ever in the future,” I replied, and went over to the Customer Service Desk.

Only to be told that they cannot open the register drawer unless “there’s a cash transaction”.

Another man may have exploded with rage at this point, but I decided to be a better man than that.  So I went back into the store itself and left my shopping cart in the clothing section, where it wouldn’t be spotted immediately — said shopping cart containing two cartons of expensive ice cream, a quart of yogurt, a frozen pizza and some fresh fruit.

Got into the car and decided to go to my old neighborhood Kroger instead, where everybody knows my name (I’ve been shopping there for well over twenty years, and the only reason I hadn’t gone there in the first place was because it’s about three miles away from the apartment AND it lies on the other side of some serious road repair works).

So I went where everybody knows my name — and where quite a few people know everybody else’s name, to judge from the odd person chatting to another in the parking lot.  Took an old lady’s cart from her just as she’d finished unloading it, getting a grateful “You’re my hero!  Thank you!” which made me feel quite better about my world.

Went into Kroger, got all the stuff I’d left in the cart at Wal-Mart plus a few other impulse items, and went over to the Customer Service Desk’s Jeanelle, who not only gave me change upon request, but got me my lottery tickets from their machine.  (She has a lovely singing voice, by the way:  one of those deep, rich gospel/soul ones, which I’d heard on a previous trip.  She is also one of the few people who has ever tripped me up on musical trivia, in that she knew the correct release date of Stevie Wonder’s album Songs In The Key Of Life.)

Checked out using the self-service aisle (I only go full service if I’ve got a large full cart, and that in the interests of speed), waved good-bye to Angela the supervisor, waved to Debbie the front-end manager on my way out, and after loading up the Tiguan, filled up at the pump using my Kroger Fuel Points (11c off per gallon when buying more than 8 gallons).

Got back home — the ?Buick? was no longer there for me to see what it actually was, so I filed that under “Unimportant Shit” and forgot about it.

Net result of the day:  considerable personal satisfaction (mission accomplished, grocerywise;  watched an asshole get a speeding ticket;  denied Wal-Mart some profit both from an unrealized transaction plus — I hope — some spoiled unsellable foods, as well as having my gas money go to their competitor).

And I got to interact with people that I don’t really know, but had only pleasant experiences with.  On a warm autumn day (no a/c needed in the car) in north Texas.

Not too bad, all things considered.